The three naked girls clung to each other, terrified, through a long night. On the deck above their little prison, the anguished screams, pleadings, and sobbings continued throughout the night as the village women who were unfortunate enough to be married and older, or virgin but not pretty enough, were repeatedly raped and sodomized. At least two girls committed suicide by leaping over- board. Several died of abuse including a ten-year-old girl whose mother was strangled when she tried to knife one of the men attacking her daughter. Finally, toward dawn, the weeping survivors were all herded into an open pen on deck where they stayed for the remainder of the voyage-burned by the sun during the day, cold and wet in the night, and easily accessible to any sailor seeking sport.
In their tiny cabin Marie and her two companions were little better off. The heat during the day made the room an unbearable oven and the damp night air chilled them to the bone. This, coupled with the stink of the one bucket they had for relieving themselves, left them weak and listless. The bucket was emptied every other day. Food was shoved through the grate in the door twice daily. They often had a steaming bowl of a surprisingly tasty concoction of peppercom- and herb-flavored gravy with tomatoes, onions, eggplant, and a tough, stringy meat that Marie suspected was goat. They had no utensils, but ate with their fingers and the small piece of bread allotted each. A pitcher of water went with the meal, and they quickly learned to conserve it.
When their ship reached Algiers the girls crowded together by the tiny porthole watching as their female relatives and friends were taken off the ship. Then from the bowels of the ship, the village men were brought up, filthy, their newly grown beards matted and lice-ridden. They too were quickly driven off the ship. As the three wondered what was to become of them the cabin door opened and the captain entered carrying something over his arm. Carelessly he flung them each a garment.
“Put ‘em on,” he commanded in rough-accented French, and when they obeyed he handed them each a heavy veil. “Pin it to your hoods and follow me,” he said. “Open your yaps once, and I’ll turn the lot of you over to my crew. They’d like that.”
Frightened, they scurried after him up to the deck and down the gangway. On the dock was a large, closed litter.
“Get in,” snarled their captor, and they quickly obeyed. “You’re going to the baths to be cleaned and prettied up,” he explained. “Do whatever they tell you to do. You’ll be sold at auction tonight. Be thankful Allah gave you beauty with your purity or you could have ended up like the others in your village.” He yanked the curtains shut and the litter began to move.
Celestine looked to her cousin Marie. “Shall we kill ourselves?” she whispered fearfully.
“Non, non, cherie,” scolded Marie. “We will pretend to meekly accept our fates, and perhaps later we can escape.”
“But if we are sold we shall be separated,” wailed Renee. She had been the village innkeeper’s only child, and was terribly spoiled, having been raised knowing that her dowry was the largest of any girl’s for fifty miles around. “How could you, a nun, suggest we yield to the infidel?”
“I am not a nun, Renee. I was a postulant for one short month. I do know, however, that God has forbidden us to suicide. Whatever I must endure in His name I shall. We are not in Tour de la Mer any longer, and it is unlikely we’ll ever see it again.”
At the baths the girls were scrubbed, massaged, bathed, denuded of body hair, creamed, and perfumed. Their long beautiful hair was washed, dried, and brushed until it shone. Marie’s rich chestnut curls were appreciated, but the blond locks of Renee and Celestine made them far more valuable. They were garbed in transparent silks and fed a light meal of capon breast and sweet fruit sherbet.
Promptly at moonrise the auction began. As they watched, Marie felt a soft languor steal over her, and realized they had been drugged to insure their cooperation. Helplessly she watched as Renee was sold to a fat black Sudanese merchant whose delight as he bore her off was evident. Renee opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Only her terrified blue eyes told of her fear.
Girl after girl was sold, and then it was Marie’s turn. Khalid el Bey quickly bought her, and because he looked kind she begged him to buy Celestine too. The bey was agreeable, but the eunuch who ran the harem of the captain-governor had marked Celestine for his master. Khalid el Bey was forced by etiquette to withdraw from the bidding for Celestine.
Marie was placed in the House of Felicity and trained as a cour- tesan. But when the time came for her to make her debut Khalid el Bey chose her to be a gift to Jean.
Celestine was not as fortunate. Her initial resistance to Jamil assured her immediate success with him. But the naive young girl fell in love with the cruel captain-governor, which made his interest wane. When he instructed his eunuch to sell the French girl off, Celestine committed suicide by leaping from the roof of one of the Casbah towers.
Marie had been devastated by her cousin’s tragic death. It seemed especially sad in light of her own good fortune. Jean’s strong love had supported Marie through the worst of it. But the captain-governor had made a bitter enemy in the young Breton girl. Marie did not know how, but she was determined to have her revenge.
Thoughts of vendetta, however, were far from Marie’s mind on this day. She was delighted to know that her mistress was also pregnant. “I can deliver both our babies,” she told Skye proudly. ”My mother was the finest midwife in three villages, and I helped her many times.”
“The doctor tells me,” said Skye, “that I have borne more than one child, but of course I do not remember,” she sighed. “I wonder about those children. Are they alive? Are they boys or girls? How old are they?”
“Madam must not fret,” chided Marie.
Skye smiled sadly at the girl who, though several years younger than she, still attempted to mother her. “I cannot help but wonder if my children miss and mourn their mother,” she said. Tears filled Marie’s hazel eyes and Skye felt guilty and hugged the girl. “Now I’ve made you sad, and I did not mean to do so. I have heard that pregnant women are subject to emotional vagaries. Is it not true? I grow morbid, and you weep.” She made a face at herself, and Marie laughed through her tears.
Skye smiled back, then asked, “Master Jean, are we through for the day? If so, Marie and I shall spend the rest of the afternoon luxuriating in the bath.”
The bey’s secretary nodded. As Khalid el Bey was a good, kind, and gentle man, so was his wife a great lady, and Jean was grateful that she extended her friendship to his wife. “Go along, my lady. You have gotten so far ahead of me with the accounts that it will take me at least two days to catch up.” He smiled with contentment as the two women left him. Life was good here in the bey’s house- hold.
In the early evening before the meal was served, Captain Robert Small arrived at the bey’s home, laden with gifts for Skye, shouting lusty greetings. Khalid delighted in the bluff seaman’s thoughtfulness, but Skye was truly touched by the care that had so obviously gone into Small’s choice of gifts. There were several bolts of fine China silk, rare spices, and a long strand of pearls from the East Indies. From the New World Captain Small had brought an intri- cately carved box of solid gold, lined in white velvet, containing the most magnificent necklace, bracelet, and earrings of Colombian emeralds that Khalid el Bey had ever seen. The emeralds, set in gold, glittered with a blue fire found in only the finest stones. “They reminded me of your eyes,” muttered the captain, flushing with the words.